WHERE is thy home, soft Breeze ? Is it among the trecs, Tell Where dost thou dwell? Where dost thou dwell? 66 My home is in ladies' bowers, I sigh among the flowers When dew'd with evening showersThere, There do I dwell; On Ocean's breast I play, And wanton with his spray; My murmurs love to swell, And there, There do I dwell. Over the fount I take My airy flight, and break Into a thousand pearls,— And its glassy smoothness shake— Yon chimes My breath unto him bears." Then hail, thou heaven-sent Breeze! Still sigh among the trees! And in the silent dell, Swell The evening's knell ! Thy odorous breathings, now Here dost thou dwell. T. Stuart. ON AN ANCIENT STONE-QUARRY. KNOW, visitor, that from this spot obscure, Whither scarce once a year, across the moor, In olden time, far off beyond the seas, Whose fame extends to earth's extremities, And still with ages grows. The stones, that here in darkness would have lain, There piled in glorious state, Up to the skies, the fretted roof sustain, Majestically great; Or carved in many a mystical device, And forms of Saints on high, In glory ever new, bring Paradise Such power hath God for His eternal ends Genius sublime! by which the mind ascends So, at His will and bountiful decree, In everlasting truth and harmony, Celestial beauty springs. E'en as at first, from the rude formless mass Of earth's chaotic frame, This fair creation, at His word of grace, In perfect order came. Cuswall. THE WINGED WORSHIPPERS. [Two swallows, having flown into church during divine service, are supposed to be apostrophised in the following stanzas.] GAY, guiltless pair, What seek ye from the fields of heaven? Ye have no sins to be forgiven. Why perch ye here, Where mortals to their Maker bend? Can your pure spirits fear The God ye never could offend? Ye never knew The crimes for which we come to weep: Blest wanderers of this upper deep. To you 'tis given To make sweet Nature's untaught lays, To chirp away a life of praise. Then spread each wing Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands; And join the choirs that sing In yon blue dome not rear'd with bands. Sprague. CARE OF BIRDS FOR THEIR YOUNG. EXALTING love, By the great Father of the Spring inspired, To tempt him from her nest. The wild-duck hence, Thompson. THE COMMONWEALTH OF BEES. Creatures that, by a rule in nature, teach TO A BEE. Shakspeare. THOU wert out betimes, thou busy, busy bee Before the cow from her resting-place Had risen up and left her trace On the meadow with dew so grey, Saw I thee, thou busy, busy bee! Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy bee! When the primrose of evening was ready to burst, Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy bee! Still on thy golden stores intent, Thy summer in heaping and hoarding is spent, What thy winter will never enjoy : Wise lesson this for me, thou busy, busy bee! Little dost thou think, thou busy, busy bee! When the latest flowers of the ivy are gone, Thy master comes for the spoil; Woe then for thee, thou busy, busy bee! Southey. THE BUTTERFLY. I'VE watch'd you now a full half-hour, This plot of orchard-ground is ours; While soft winds rock you to your sleep; Wordsworth. |